


Not Going Anywhere

by BlackHawksChild



Series: Moments [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Universe - NYPD, F/M, Pregnancy, fear of the unknown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHawksChild/pseuds/BlackHawksChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... Her heart was beating so ferociously, making the red-head bring her hands up to either side of her chest as if that would keep her ribs from unhinging...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Going Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swietek93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swietek93/gifts).



Natasha waited. And waited. Her heart was beating so ferociously, making the red-head bring her hands up to either side of her chest as if that would keep her ribs from unhinging. She glanced up at the clock, her green eyes noting the time; 22:57. She curled her legs under her body, taking deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart. Suddenly, her phone beeped twice, signalling a new message. The twenty-five-year-old grabbed her phone, her heartbeat accelerating faster. She quickly unlocked the android, pulling up the message from her husband: ‘ _ I’m fine. Check the news. Be home soon. – C xxx. _ ’

Natasha released a breath she hadn’t realised that she had been holding. Her husband was safe. She picked up the TV remote, unmuted the TV and changed the channel to the news. The eleven o’clock news had just started. And she was going to kill her husband herself.

“Breaking news just in. Earlier today, NYPD were involved in the successful detainment of various gang leaders linked with the murders of New York Councilman, Alexander Dreykoff, his wife, Emilia, and their ten-year-old daughter, Anya. More of this story is brought to you by our report, Steven Rogers. Steve, what can you tell us?” the anchor-man, Anthony ‘Tony’ Stark, asked, the screen flickering as a video came into the visual with said reporter in the middle of it.

Natasha watched as Rogers made his report, the red-head taking in every last possible detail. The reporter retold the day’s events to the public; the NYPD were called to a 911 emergency call which had reported shots fired in Hell’s Kitchen. The call then escalated to a car chase out of New York City along the highway. It ended in a stalemate shoot-out at an abandoned warehouse outside the city. It was then revealed, later, that the main suspects were four major gangleaders who were wanted by NYPD’s homicide unit for the murders of the Councillor and his family. The same unit where Natasha and Clint were the main detectives. The stand-off lasted approximately seven hours. At which – as Natasha watched on in worry and horror as Rogers reported that – the lead officer, Clint Barton, led a twenty man SWAT team into the warehouse where they soon subdued and detained all four suspects successfully.

Natasha let out a shaky breath as she brought one hand to her mouth, biting on her index finger, trying to force down her emotions as the report continued. The anchor-man asked various questions about whether the case would be a ‘slam-dunk’ for the DA’s office and the NYPD. But Natasha paid little attention, waiting for whether they would any information about her husband. And whether or not she had the right to scorn him when he arrived home. Her attention was caught when Stark questioned Rogers on whether Clint was the lone detective on the case when it was originally two detectives.

“Well, Anthony, you’re right about Detective Barton not being the lone lead detective on this case. Detective Natasha Romanoff-Barton, is currently on maternity leave which, understandably, left her unable to be involved in today’s events.”

“More than good enough reason to not be present today. Steven, have there been any injuries to either the gangs or the police injured during the day’s events?”

“So far, there has been three gang members confirmed dead, twelve uniform officers received non-critical injuries while the members of the infiltration tea have been confirmed to have ‘ _ minor cuts and bruises but otherwise okay _ ’.”

“Well, it certainly seems that Detective Barton will be sleeping in the dog house tonight.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat as the image of her husband was pulled up on screen. He was wearing his usual long-sleeved black T-shirt and black cargo pants – something he picked up from his time in the Marines – as well as a black police issued bulletproof vest. His badge rested on a long chain, lying against his broad chest. His hearing aids were black dots in his ears, only noticeable to someone who knew they were already there. His face was covered in various scrapes and cuts: the left side of his bottom lip was split open, bleeding heavily as well as his nose. ‘Another broken nose to his already tally,’ she thought without humour. His usually spiky brown-blonde hair was matted down with sweat.

Natasha took a deep shuddering breath, closing her eyes as the babies kicked, reminding her that her husband was okay and already on his way home.

As if he knew she was thinking of him, Natasha heard the front door opening, signalling Clint’s return. She slowly got up, making sure not to make herself dizzy, before she walked out into the kitchen to greet her husband.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greeted, smiling at her hesitantly, holding up the Thai take-out bags as a peace offering. “How was your day?”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Clinton! You promised me that you wouldn’t do anything risky! And then you go get yourself shot at and injured during a take-down!” she practically shouted, her heart beating hard once again, adrenaline pumping hard through her body. Or more like pent-up fear. “You promised that you wouldn’t do anything to get yourself hurt!”

Clint placed the take-out bag on the kitchen counter before slowly approaching his wife. He used one hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that were threatening to fall. He used his free hand to gently caress her baby bump, the seven month bump preventing him from getting any closer to her.

“I know. And I’m sorry. You know that I’d never mean to hurt you or break a promise I’ve made you. But I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m here. I’m not leaving you,” he whispered softly, slowly wrapping his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible to him. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

Natasha slowly nodded, sniffling as she buried her face in her husband’s chest, closing her eyes as she slowly relaxed. Then she suddenly pulled away. “You stink,” she informed him, covering her nose with her left hand. “Shower. Now,” she ordered, pushing him towards the bathroom.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint mock-saluted, grinning when Natasha glared at him. “Be right back, milady,” he whispered, sneaking a chaste kiss before escaping down to the bathroom.

The red-head shook her head at her husband’s child-like actions before making her way back into the living-room. She glanced at the TV, noticing that the Chief Police Commissioner, Nick Fury, and the Deputy Commissioner, Maria Hill, were now addressing the press. Four profiles mug-shots were brought up – two Hispanic, Javier Rodriguez and Havier Santos, and two Russians, Ivan Petrovitch and Alexei Shostakov – as Fury spoke. He thanked all the officers involved on the case before Hill stepped in, answering all relevant questions while ignoring the personal ones.

But Natasha could care less. Anya was going to have justice. After six months, that little ten-year-old girl who Natasha couldn’t save would now have her justice. The red-head was brought out of her thoughts when her husband hugged her from behind, his strong arms wrapped around her baby bump.

“You okay?” he whispered, holding her close as he softly kissed the back of her head. He knew how much Anya’s death tortured Natasha. How his wife, despite his reassurances, blamed herself for the kid’s death. How she questioned and mentally debated her actions that day. He hoped that this arrest would help put all of those questions and her self-hate to rest.

Natasha slowly nodded, twisting her head slightly to look up and back at her husband. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’ve been thinking about names,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip as she replayed the various conversations about baby names they’d had over the past few months.

“Oh. And what are they? I’ve already given you mine,” he replied, smiling as he watched the metaphorical thinking gears moved in her mind.

“Rose Anya Barton for a girl and Erik Francis Barton for a boy?”

“So we have Rose Anya and Sinéad Alexis for girls. And Erik Francis and Oliver James for boys. They’re perfect, Sweetheart,” he whispered, smiling and pressing a soft, loving kiss to his wife’s temple.

Natasha smiled back, her heart beating so ferociously she was sure her husband’s arms were they only things that were stopping her ribs from unhinging. But unlike earlier, this time is was because of happiness and relief, not the fear of the unknown…


End file.
